Defiance
by Elven Ink
Summary: **COMPLETE** Archangel Michael was the shield to Archangel Gabriel's sword. But she never thought the day would come that the evil she defended God's creatures from would be the very sword that had stood at her side through eons.


**AN: This was originally written as a drabble prompt response on my Tumblr. Crossposting over here too. :)**

* * *

They had been created together, as all Archangels were. Archangels were born in pairs, you see; two sides of a single coin. They existed together, they thought together, and they served together. They acted as a counterbalance to each other, to ensure corruption could not take root.

At least, that had been the theory. And unlike with humans, _free will _wasn't a wild variable to contend with in such a theory. It should have been flawless.

Perhaps that was why Michael had never questioned Gabriel's movements before. After all, she was he, and he was she. They were bonded together, the sword and shield of God. Gabriel served as the Archangel of Strength, where she was the Archangel of Protection. They were one and the same. Michael wished to do her duty to protect humanity from evil; if that meant the end of the world, so be it. It wasn't for her to question the Great Plan. It wasn't for her to question that what they did was good. They were angels. It went without saying.

Didn't it?

Michael wasn't quite sure what had buried this unusual seed of doubt in her mind. Perhaps it was a result of her recent observations of the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley. She had found it quite amusing that the pair of them still maintained their sensory bond, with the demon appearing wherever and whenever the angel needed help (weather permitting).

Did they remember their days together, before the demon was cast out? Did they remember their creation, mere days after Gabriel and Michael's own, and before Uriel and Sandalphon? Michael remembered — she remembered the red haired Archangel introducing himself back then as Raphael, and his blond counterpart as Azrael. The pair were tasked with healing and comforting, whether that was in rejuvenation or in the merciful release of dying. A noble task, one that saw them much more connected to the human world than any other Archangel.

It made it all the more bitter when Raphael fell. It had been a chaotic day, with the two Archangels so strongly bonded together that Raphael's fall nearly destroyed Azrael with grief. They'd taken two of Azrael's wings that day, demoting him from Archangel to a mere Principality. After all, Archangels could not exist alone; they must always exist in pairs.

It was for the greater good. Still, despite their dedication to these rules, Michael hadn't had the heart to correct the new Principality when he named himself as a muddled tangle of his own name and his lost ethereal partner's. _Aziraphale_...Michael did rather feel sorry for him sometimes. He'd forgotten, but the other Archangels had not. They treated him with scorn, as though his and Raphael's joint failure in existing as perfect Archangels had marred their own reputation.

In a way, it had. It had proved they were not perfect. It had proved they could _question_ the plan.

And Michael had, oh so slowly, begun to question it.

It started with a few calls to the basement. Just curiosity for how the other side lived. Then they became back channels, a secretive network only she (and by extension, Gabriel) knew of.

Idly, she wondered if this corruption on her behalf had been the catalyst for Gabriel's own apparent descent. He had become crueler, colder, and far more detached from the human world. Where he once sought to defend it from evil, now, he seemed more concerned with destroying evil whatever the cost.

Michael had questioned this. She blamed Aziraphale for bringing the idea of _questioning anything_ to their table.

She cursed him bitterly in her thoughts as she strode through the brilliant white halls. She cursed them both.

* * *

Michael loathed going down to the human world. Once, she had loved it, and she couldn't tell when she began to grow distaste for it. No doubt it was the same time Gabriel began to turn a darkened glower to humanity. After all...she was he, and he was she.

And he would know she had gone to the world below. Michael was on borrowed time.

She found the bookshop with ease and, ignoring the closed sign, strode straight in. Immediately, Michael's nostrils were assaulted with the scent of Hell — and her ears picked up the distinct sound of a lanky demon diving out of a window. Without opening the window first.

A rather flustered looking Aziraphale appeared then, a smile lop-sided on his poor attempt at a poker face.

"M-Michael! This...this is a _lovely_ surprise! What can I do for you?" Aziraphale stuttered, making a show of putting a book away that clearly hadn't been tidied away to its own shelf in several years, but apparently needed to be tidied now as a matter of priority.

"Hypothetically," Michael said, cutting to the point with surgical precision, "can your demon-friend hear me?"

Aziraphale's face drained, but his eyes betrayed him; he flicked a glance over Michael's shoulder. Michael heard a crash behind her as Crowley dove into a bin outside.

"I-I-I, er, _demon_-friend? I don't know what you mean, Michael," Aziraphale replied around a nervous laugh, taking the same book off the shelf and then tidying it back onto the same shelf.

It was a wonder these two had caused Heaven such problems. Perhaps this was proof their system was failing at an internal level.

"Aziraphale...angels are sworn to protect what is good. Aren't they?"

The angel before her paused. He turned, book half-balanced between the shelf and his hand.

"Yes...of course. Forgive me, Michael, I don't think I _quite_ follow—"

"And this 'good'...if defending it means going against the Great Plan...is it still 'good'?" She asked, though the question was poised between both angels.

Aziraphale swallowed, brow furrowing. The dilemma was twisting both of their minds and souls, and it had taken root long ago in Aziraphale — and only recently in Michael.

"I...I think so. Or God wouldn't have created us to pursue the defence of good," he replied. "Would she?"

A silence settled between the pair then. It was shattered only when Aziraphale meekly asked: "...A-Are you here to destroy me, Michael?"

"...No."

"...Am I to return to Heaven? To fight this-this war?"

"Gabriel wants you to. I suppose that means I do too."

Michael stepped forward then, and the Principality backed away from her, the book tumbling from his hand to the floor.

"I want you to fight this war, Aziraphale. As is your duty." The other angel backed against a bookshelf behind him, rattling it and dragging a startled cry of shock from Aziraphale's lips. Michael's hand came up — and settled palm-first against Aziraphale's chest. "As is my duty. To shield this world from evil...no matter where it comes from."

Aziraphale's mouth opened and closed like fish out of water, before a brilliant light saw Michael's four wings blossom from her back, an ethereal display of garnet hues. Her two lower wings glowed brighter and then suddenly, shattered like glass — and behind Aziraphale, forming over the two scars that marred his lower back, a second set of wings regrew.

Michael allowed herself a sad smile.

_I'm sorry, Gabriel. I cannot stand beside you any longer. _

"M-Michael, what—"

Somewhere outside, the sound to Crowley's voice shattered the moment with an indignant "What the fuckity-_fuck_?!" and a loud clatter that may or may not have been a demon leaping out of a hiding-spot bin in surprise of a second set of wings appearing on his own back.

Michael tried not to roll her eyes. She'd given her blessing to a pair of idiots. To save the world.

She could only pray that this was what God actually wanted. In her defence, God could have been a little clearer at the best of times.

Still, it was with a small smile that Michael began to feel herself drifting away from existence; ah, Gabriel had noticed her absence, and felt her wings torn as though his own had been cleaved away. His sword had duly cut her down, not in the physical world, but worse — at the core of her very being.

Aziraphale's shocked expression and tearful eyes would be the last thing Michael saw. She still thought the angel was soft.

But now, she didn't consider that a disgrace upon her kind.

Quite the contrary.


End file.
